For the moment, Gorny wasn’t troubled by the collected powers around the table before him. He was laughing. He was laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face while the others only stared solemnly in his direction, looking at the cable he held between his hands. The sound of his laughter echoed in the large, chilly room.
“Comrade Chairman,” Venchikof said from his place several seats away, “what has the fascist American president said that so amuses you?”
Gorny wiped his eyes. “Granted, McKenna is a fascist and an imperialistic sonofabitch, but the man does have humor.” He held up the cable to read. ‘“On behalf of the people of the United States, I would like to extend my heartiest congratulations on the occasion of the anniversary of your birth….’” He looked around the table. “Not my birthday, comrades, ‘the anniversary of my birth.’ He speaks as if I were a war memorial.” He continued reading. ‘“Even with the unfortunate difficulties that face our two countries today, one has to respect anyone who can survive another year in high office without abandoning dedication to freedom, justice, prosperity and, most of all, a never-ending search for a permanent and lasting peace.’” Gorny set the cable down, smiling and shaking his head.
“Very amusing,” Nadia Kortner said. She didn’t smile.
Gorny sat down. “I know McKenna. He wrote that cable himself. Shall I translate it for you, comrades?”
Marshal Budner squinted down the table. He was even farther away than Venchikof. “It has been translated,” he said.
“Not really, my dear Marshal. What the president has said to me — to all of us — is that it’s a miracle we’ve all lasted here… from one birthday to another. He is also reminding us that we are in as much trouble as he is.”
“We,” Rudenski said quietly, “are not in any trouble.”
Marshal Budner sat up. “What?” He glanced at the foreign minister. “What was that?”
Venchikof ignored the marshal. “Let him have his joke. I promise you that he will not be laughing next year. He will no longer be president next year.”
Gorny considered it. “Perhaps. But then, perhaps, better a devil we know than one we don’t.”
“If we might bring this discussion back to current events,” Nadia Kortner said. She opened the large red folder in front of her and continued. “I have received the latest report on American farming. The number of bankruptcies of farmers holding a hundred acres or less has risen thirty-eight percent in one year — their grain embargo is a catastrophe.”
“You are very good at numbers, Madame Kortner,” Gorny said lazily, “but I wonder if you realize who is suffering most.” To all of them he said, “The Central Committee meets in a week’s time. We are only three months away from the Thirty-Eighth Congress and, in my opinion, we are never farther away from disaster than yesterday.”
Prime Minister Temienko nodded. “Granted, there are some stresses, but—”
“You call our problems stresses?” Gorny put on his bull face. “I saw something this morning in the streets of Moscow — police beating students. In Moscow! We are facing more than stresses, I think.”
“I’m sorry about that, comrade Chairman,” Rudenski said in a tone that was not apologetic. “Those revanchist hooligans will not be seen on the streets of Moscow ever again.”
“Can your KGB guarantee it, Rudenski?” Gorny turned to him angrily. “Can the KGB guarantee no more food riots in the Ukraine? No more outbreaks in Bessarabia? No danger of the further disintegration of the Warsaw Pact? No problems with our armies in—”
“Please, comrade Chairman!” Marshal Budner rose from his chair. “The loyalty of every unit of the Soviet Armed Forces is not even open to question.”
“I question it,” Gorny shot back. “Don’t be naive, my dear Marshal. You know we have been beseiged by reports of desertions.”
“Every army has them,” Budner replied. “They are the criminals, the drunkards, the antiparty opportunists in certain units. It is nothing of great—”
“Please spare me,” Gorny said. “Sit down, Marshal.”
Budner began to object. “But—”
“Please,” said The Bull.
Budner took his seat, scratching it across the floor in childish protest.
Gorny stood, then paced behind his chair. “Comrades, you are all intelligent people. When we meet privately you are honest, frank, blunt”—he glanced at Venchikof—”and caring. Why is it that whenever you are gathered together you are mindless of mistakes, of conceding errors, of acknowledging problems?” The large room was silent as he walked to a large window and stared into the cobblestone street. “There was a time, comrades, when that square was brimming with traffic. Even in the dead of winter. People, cars, buses — activity that reflected an energetic and vigorous city. Now…” He sighed.
“Now, except for a few bundled passersby and the looming Byzantine spires of St. Basil’s, the square exudes little more than pronounced desolation.”
“Comrade Chairman.” It was Venchikof’s high-pitched voice. “When you present your redevelopment program to the Central Committee—”
Gorny swung back to face the table. “If the world perceives us as a stricken cartoon, announcements of dozens of five-year plans will not change our image.”
“There is only one perception that matters these days,” Rudenski said. He nodded down the table toward Marshall Budner. “The Soviet might. We are not simply sickle and hammer, comrade. Somehow that image is lost in your assessments. No one has any misconception of the potency of the Soviet military or its supremacy.”
“Truly spoken,” Gorny said. “But if we have to prove our military superiority, we have failed, comrade Rudenski.”
The head of the KGB nodded politely. “A matter of opinion, I think, comrade Chairman.” He glanced at Gorny with a measured look. “Have you a solution to our dilemma then?” Rudenski half smiled. He pursed his lips. “I’m working on it, comrade Chairman,” he said. “I’m working on it.”
FORT WAINWRIGHT
FAIRBANKS, ALASKA
1530 HRS
Jake Caffey stepped off the transport plane into a coldness that singed his lungs with his first breath.
Snow and wind whipped his face and caused his eyes to water as he fought his way towards the operations office. Outside the door was a sign for newcomers.
WELCOME TO FORT WAINWRIGHT HOME OF THE YUKON COMMAND
171ST INFANTRY BRIGADE GEN. G. F. ROBERTS, COMMANDING
Caffey caught his breath. When his eyes had cleared he stared through the frosted window at the desolate runway and the ominous gray clouds that seemed to hang low enough to touch. He blew on his hands. He knew it was cold in Alaska, but Jesus Christ…
“Colonel Caffey?”
Caffey turned around to find a large master sergeant standing before him.